Reign Down On Me
by Abby Ebon
Summary: SLASH! Morderd x Merlin x Arthur. AU. As a boy, Merlin was taken in by the Druids, now with vivid Morderd at his side, and the visionary Morgana within the dyeing heart of Camelot, they aim to take down High King Uther.
1. Midnight Quickening

**Reign Down On Me**

_Abby Ebon_

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Disclaimer_: _Merlin_ is not mine, though that is circumstantial to what I'm going to do with him, and, ah, _other characters_.

_Note_; this came up when I took a peek at a LJ community; kinkme_merlin, I happened to look through the archives and find a few requests – the result, well, was this, obviously. For those unfamiliar with BBC's new series, _Merlin_, well, its sort of my new obsession and I already have four stories in the making – now that I have a handful of days off (as this month has been nuts) I thought to work on them, and see how they were received.

_Summary_: As a boy, Merlin was taken in by the Druids, now with vivid Morderd at his side, and the visionary Morgana within the dyeing heart of Camelot, they aim to take down High King Uther – and release the Great Dragon with a show of magic that will quake the very foundations. In the aftermath, Merlin faces that which not even he could deny, the man-boy Prince that is his souls other half.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

**Midnight Quickening **

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Hunith, you are sure, that _this_… is, _will be_, a wise choosing for the child?" With a hushed voice, Gaius spoke as if he feared even the very wind might snatch away his words and carry them to unfriendly ears. Sorcerer in his own right, though it had been a dozen years upon the night he had foresworn magic, stood besides her now as brother.

Younger though she was, Hunith was no fickle child to change her mind at another's urging. Her fingers threading through the silky black hair of her only child, guileless blue eyes looked up at her, restless, as if the child knew what was to happen this night. As if he, her little Merlin, understood their conversation. He very well might.

"What choices have I, Gaius, truly? Merlin is a child of the Old World, for the moment the Old Religion is not looked upon as evil within Ealdor. What assurance have I that Ealdor might be taken by the likes of King Uther, in the time it will take for Merlin to grow and understand that his secret must be kept, even from peer and king alike? It is too heavy a burden to even hope that something untold will not happen in a handful of years." Wary hazel eyes glanced once again upon the open door, beyond it, the forest and fields stretched beyond sight.

It seemed unending, unchanging, yet Hunith knew it was not. It was within night that the Old Religion became something more then fleeting heathen ways and whys. By daybreak, it all seemed a passing fancy, yet there was a bitter sharpness to the truth in the moonlight. Thiers was an uncertain world, yet beyond the kept lands of kings and the tended fields, the Old Religion still held sway within the hearts of beast and man alike.

"Hunith, _they_ are…not like us." Gaius kept his eyes adverted from the door, he knew as well as she what laid beyond the tended and tamed lands. He had turned his back upon his own magic, perhaps he feared to face those who would know his secret as soon as looking upon him.

"I know Gaius, but they well keep my Merlin safe, they will teach him their ways, and those ways are perhaps kinder then our own to the nature of how things truly are." Gaius kept his silence, though he sighed heavily. Hunith shared a smile with Merlin, who still looked up upon her. She wondered what Merlin saw when he looked upon them, her hair was healthy and lush, her skin unmarred by grit, while Gaius, only a handful of years older, held his head high though his body swooped and his hair hung lank and pale even in the kindness of firelight. Did he guess that Gaius denied his own nature and suffered for it? Or did he merely accept them without second guesses?

Out in the grove, she saw a flicker of movement – a shadow moving where there should be no shadow. She had thought they would appear like this, rather then as roaming travelers with torches to give away their presence. Still, they had right to be wary of betrayal. Gone were the days when children such as her Merlin were given to the Druids freely, in those days it was an honor. These days, the child was more likely murdered or abandoned before given up to the Druids for teachings. They had learnt their caution well. At her feet, Merlin stirred.

"Do not be frightened, my child." Hunith murmured to Merlin, stilling by will alone her quaking hands, glancing to Gaius who still stood at her side. His hand had tightened, white knuckled, about his staff. Merlin with tilted head and frowning lips watched the grove, having lost sight of the figures that moved freely within the dark.

"I am not frightened, who are they, Mother?" Merlin asked his voice wobbly and curious. He was not frightened, he had no reason to fear, she had protected him well- perhaps too well. Even though the three of them were watching, it did not seem to matter, a pair cloaked in earthen green slipped from the shadows with an ease that stung her heart. So different, so stood apart from the ordinary – would this be what her Merlin would become?

It seemed a cold fate, cruel – even though the other hand would be harsher dealt, in rotted death and seeping lies. Kinder did not make right. It was a hard choice to be made, but Hunith did not want her Merlin to grow, thinking his place in this world was something wrong or tainted. The tallest of the pair moved forward, long fingers tugged away the hood that hid a stranger's face. It was as if, upon hearing Merlin (for he surely had), he could not help in answering such questions in his own way. He would be a good teacher.

"I am Blaise. We," there was a bowed tilt to his head as he accepted the added company of the silent second, "are of the Old World, as are you. Among us, you will be accepted, befriended, we will teach you all you may learn from us, and if it suits you, you may stay among our people, or come back to your mother with knowledge to keep your magic under your will and sway." Kind eyes, though they were a dangerous flint black with the glittering marring of gold – magic's touch, not to be hidden or denied in these eyes – skittered from child to Hunith then Gaius. There was a wary tilt to his lips as he took the sight of them in, accepting; though he could hardly _like_ that the world had changed as much as it had.

There was understanding in this stranger, and Hunith felt relief bubble up within her chest, she sighed with the ease. They would not have spoken, had they not intended to take Merlin among their own. He would be raised among them, accepted without question or reservation, taught their ways, he might even learn in time to forgive Hunith.

"Mother…?" There was no Old World maturity within Merlin's blue eyes as he turned to her, the betrayal a heavy blow. Hunith pressed her lips together, daring not to say anything. What could she say to ease this blow? Merlin thought she would be able to protect him as she always had – he did not understand that there were beasts and beings, even kings, which Hunith could do nothing against. He might even think she hated him, or this was being done against her will.

"Why…?" Merlin gasped the word, as if forcing it out no matter that it pained him. Her heart ached for him. Hunith could not look at him, fearing her heart would shatter; instead her eyes lingered on the stones that made up the hearth. Soot had gathered there, mocking in its fine grittiness. Her eyes blurred, and she blinked as her vision blurred not having the heart to wipe her tears away.

Beside her, Gaius stood firmly, watching it till the end. He would not be swayed – no matter if she blessed or cursed him – she had made her choice and even if she were not strong enough to see it though, Gaius respected and honored her by seeing her will be done.

"I love you, my Merlin." Her voice was choked, faint, and her gut churned as if she were in a storm. She had always loathed the lightning and thunder. It was a cruel irony that on this night, facing the great turmoil within her heart, it was under clear skies.

"I…I don't understand." Hunith flinched to the very marrow of her bones. Even so, she dared not look up to see Merlin. If she did, she feared in faltering what she might do. It was better this way that she may never know if Merlin hated her, or was bewildered in his betrayal.

"Someday, you will." It was Blaise who spoke, though Hunith could not help but take comfort in the surety of his words.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Where are we going?" Resigned to his fate as the child seemed, there was a petulant curiosity about what were to be his surroundings. Blaise looked down at the child, bemused by the scowl that glared up at him. One day, this child would learn the truth, and know what had been sacrificed for him.

It was not Blaise that answered.

"We are bound to the Isle of the Blessed." With a quickly indrawn breath, the boy proved truly that he knew of such a place – if only by village mutterings. Footsteps quickening to catch up, the child pulled at the green cloak, made of finer stuff then most nobles held (though the boy would know it not), it was a firm tug, and proved to halt the stride though it had been at a determined pace.

"Will's said it's cursed." Blaise sealed his lips against a chuckle that threatened to sound aloud. It would only give the child a wounded bit of pride – that would not be such a high price, if they were not trying to gain the boys trust. As it was, he let the shadows hide his grin, aware that it was seen – not by the child, but by his companion. He would get no thanks for his humor.

"It is of the Old Religion, you are a child of the Old World – as are we – there is nothing on that Isle that would lay harm upon you." Speaking to the child from standing was a position of authority; it was why now the other knelt beside the boy, making a marked similarity in their heights.

"Why must we go there?" There was something like fright in the boy's voice, though he had hid it well. With a sigh, two pale hands brought down the hood that had hidden his companion's features. Black screw curls and ringlets fell loose and unbound about her shoulders, high cheeked and pale noble features, Nimueh always made an impression.

"We go to the Isle of the Blessed to seek the council of the Goddess, little one." Nimueh had gentled her tone and features to cater to a child's need for security and safety. She had more patience then most, coupled with her wide range of magical power, and Blaise well knew that this made her deadly.

"Wouldn't she prefer to be left alone?" It was a within a child's wisdom, this question. Nimueh shook her head gently, smiling but faintly even so not to seem to mock the child whose magical nature might someday sweep to overpower her own. She reached out a finger to point within the boy's chest.

"No. She is within us all, we of the Old World, she has gifted us with the favor of magic, to ignore her calling to the Isle of the Blessed would be to slight her. Else while, how else would we learn your name?" There was a teasing tone to her words, though they were spoken with no lack of truth. This time the boy frowned, now confused.

"My name is Merlin." It was not a wholly sure fact, as the waver in the boys words were noticed, even to the child.

"Is it now?" Nimueh gave another of her gentle knowing smiles and stood, this time when she walked onward, the child did not pull her back to speak – instead, he followed, wordlessly. His mind was not so silent, and it would have been easy to pull a thought from his mind, if they wished to invade his privacy. He did not yet know he was rude, for all that among them, this was a fact he did not know and they did not tell him as it was ruder still to address one of their own in manners while lacking a name – he would learn it soon enough.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Note; the challenges taken to be tied into "_Reign Down On Me_."

Anon. Request #1

http : // community . livejournal . com / kinkme_merlin / 1108 . html ? thread = 302420 # t302420

_Arthur/Merlin, Merlin is raised by the druids and has never met Arthur. He becomes their leader because he's so powerful. When Arthur is captured by the druids, they want to kill him but Merlin decides he'd rather keep him as a pet. Powerful!Merlin and Consort!Arthur. Bonus points if Merlin is vindictive and sends Uther images of just what he's doing to his son :D_

Anon. Request #2

http : // community . livejournal . com / kinkme_merlin / 1108 . html ? thread = 250196 # t250196

_Arthur/Merlin, emotional trauma. Arthur finds out the truth about his birth. He's utterly devastated. He blames himself not only for his mother's death but also for starting the purges. He knows about Merlin's magic and he thinks Merlin must hate him now he knows the truth (that it's his fault magical people are persecuted). Merlin has to convince him otherwise :D_


	2. Naming Of Emrys

**Reign Down On Me**

_Abby Ebon_

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Disclaimer_: _Merlin_ is not mine. This story is.

_Notes_: I'm going with the actor's ages, as we aren't really told how old Mordred or Merlin is – so;

Merlin -24*

Mordred – 13*

*At present however, Merlin is not-yet ten, and Mordred is almost three.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

**Naming Of Emrys**

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

There was always something about the boat. It was not that it needed no paddles to go forward, or that the waters beneath were calm to the point where there was barely a ripple to disturb the surface. It was eerie quiet. Almost patient as it bobbed on the lake, enduring as it set a decent pace that did not chill them to stillness, or moved swiftly setting too much of a breeze upon reddened cheeks, and deeply satisfied, it seemed, as rough stone scratched the bottom of wooden planks. It gave a certain sense as if was _almost_ sentient, _almost_ alive - almost, but, _not quiet_.

Always after, when he thought of the Isle of the Blessed, it would be the boat that anchored him in the surety of a child that such a place _was_ and _would always_ be. He stumbled from the boat, unbalanced and ungainly, but it was Nimueh who stilled him with a hand upon his shoulder. It was all the reassurance he would be given, yet, somehow, it was enough.

Enough to let him trot after Nimueh, with Blaise trailing after – he understood when the stone path that started where the boat had landed itself ended within a clearing that was surrounded by ancient buildings that put him in mind of the old stories; of Roman soldiers with red cloaks, and strange Greek gods that took on the look of humans. This was something like a ceremony.

Nervous now, in a way that he was not before, he nearly trips on his own feet when they halt. He notices at once that someone must have been here before they arrived, upon the alter there is a small fire still flickering, and strange smelling smoke rises up from a metal bowl that rests above the fire. Its age is apparent, tarnished and dull, rust and flame having darkened it on the outside and within.

Nimueh starts to hum tonelessly as she picks up the bowl, he flinches, expecting her to cry out in pain – she does not. For a moment, he does not understand, the fire must have warmed the metal to make its contents burn. Rolling words wash over his hears, though he understanding them in his heart. Blaise joins her, and it strikes him then – this is a song. Nimueh keels to put the bowl on the stone path, then stands, for a moment he worries – do they expect him to _know _what he is to do? Is this a test? What will they do to him if he fails – take him back to his mother, or kill him?

"Kneel, breath in the smoke – then speak you true name." He understands that this is to find out his name. He has _told them_ his name, but bites his lips closed, the feeling – the sense to this Isle of the Blessed and its clearing – that this is ritual and this is ceremony and he should not question, but obey, fills his head and stops his tongue. He feels it is wrong to embarrass them, or to be as rude as that – even if they do not believe him, or won't until he goes through this. He lets out a little sigh, too soft to seem put-upon; rather he accepts that he has to do this. He'll just say his name into the smoke and be done with it.

The stone path is oddly warm against his hands and the thin cloth that covers his knees. Bowing his head into the smoke, he inhales, feeling as if the world is a bit more focused then it was a moment ago. He hears their toneless humming, their breathing, and their hearts. Hears the wind as it sweeps over the pillars that surround the clearing, hears the lake lap at the shore and wet the dark rocks. He knows the name of these things, but the knowledge is fleeting, fleeing as he speaks his name, his own voice ringing in his mind as he says it.

"Emrys." It is a truth he will not – can not – deny, even if he _didn't_ know it was the truth.

"Be welcome, Emrys, to the Isle of the Blessed, heartland to the Druid." Nimueh helps him to stand, taking his hands into her own – they are colder then the stone. It worries him for a moment, but there is no time to ask – to question – for he only now listens to hear the murmur of voices, some young, some old, both man and woman.

He looks around then, it seems almost a dream to realize - though he had not seen them before, and had been _sure_ that they were alone - that he and Nimueh and Blaise are suddenly among a throng of humanity within a little clearing of ancient ruins.

There are _others_ here, cloaked in greens and blues and browns, and vibrant colors in-between that he had only seen in nature, their voices echoing in the wind, fertile – alive; it seems that even if this is an ancient place, it is thriving.

His glee is settled by a calmness that washes over him, as each of them speaks his name in welcome – telling freely their own names in turn (each of these names comes back to him with startling ease when he thinks back, though he knows the names should have faded – they never do).

In that first visit, Emrys only lingered on the Isle of the Blessed for a handful of days, watching as other children learned their true names and was welcomed in the same way. When he leaves it (as all the children must) – Nimueh does not follow. It hardly seemed to matter, with Blaise at his side, he never felt alone or neglected.

He learned much in those handful of years, he sometimes thought to ask when he would stop learning ("If you are lucky, young Emrys, that day will never come. Not even when I am old and grey would I wish to not learn anything new at all. Not even in death, I prey.") and start teaching ("Do you grow bored of me so easily? No? Well, you will teach when it is your time, if that duty calls to you.") and while there were always _answers_, they were not always what he expected them to be, or wanted them to be.

Then, the day came, Nimueh called them back to the Isle of the Blessed.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

It was not Nimueh that greeted them on the shores, it was a boy; he was cold and pale and shivering. He said not a word of greeting, but only stared at Emrys as if he'd been waiting all his life to set eyes upon him. Discomforted, Emrys looked to Blaise, who only touched his shoulder and silently shook his head as if in pity.

"Ah, there you are my Mordred." Nimueh appeared with her words, and the wide blue sapphire eyes fixed upon her as if she were the only clear thing in the fog of the boy's mind.

"_Mother_…" Mordred greeted her, his words a whispered sigh, his attention turned again to Emrys, as fixed upon him as it had been on Nimueh. Blaise he did not seem to see at all.

"What is wrong with you?" Emrys asked softly, he was uneasy under that stare, that intent focus so measured upon him, but he did not look away; that would be rude, and admittance of submission to this boy.

"_I'm blessed by the Goddess, as you are – will you be my friend Emrys_?" Mordred asked with a smile that made his sapphire eyes shine; as if he already knew the answer.

"Yes." Emrys says, acknowledging the swirling power around them, he can do little else. It is only when he speaks that he realizes Mordred has not said a word aloud, all of his words had been whispered within his mind. It's a private communication, that way of speaking, and Emrys flushes, looking aside.

Nimueh ruffles Mordred's black hair, a small smile playing on her lips.

"_I have been waiting so long for you_." Mordred takes his hand, the weight of words in Emrys head are warm and comfortable. Mordred is very young, Emrys realizes with that little hand curled protectively about his finger – Emrys is a child not yet ten, and Mordred doesn't talk aloud at all because he _can't_ – he shouldn't even be able to toddle about on his own, let alone talk.

"Blaise is it any wonder such eerie children are thought cursed outside the mists of the Isle of the Blessed?" Nimueh speaks, something in her eyes and voice reflect sympathy for the pair of them, pity at the hardships they will inevitably face. Emrys can feel those, in the distant future, sometimes, at the fringes of his dreams.

Mordred's little hand clenches around his fingertips, possessive. "_I will not let them hurt you, my Emrys, do not fear what we can not yet see_."

Emyrs nods in agreement, and at his acceptance of Mordred's words, Mordred smiles softly for him.

"It is time you knew why this place is called the Isle of the Blessed." Nimueh runs her hand through Mordred's hair, soothingly, for Mordred stirs uneasily and glances up at her.

"In the Old Religion of the Old World, the Isle of the Blessed referred to a place where heroes and other favored went when they passed on. This is what they beyond the mists tell their children and whisper to themselves of what became of us. You know differently, though you are children yourselves. The Isle of the Blessed is like a doorway between Avalon, the land of eternal youth, and Albion, which is for the mortals. We are children blessed to be able to travel between both worlds, like our Isle of the Blessed. Today, you meet the _Sidhe_ of Avalon." Nimueh eyes are fixed beyond them, to the mists that obscure the land beyond the lake.

Emrys shivers, for there is something out there – moving – and then there is not. It is too still.

"Well spoken, sister mine." Emrys spins about, for the fair voice came from behind him; already Nimueh and Blaise have caught sight of her, bowing their heads in respect. A smile plays at Nimueh's lips.

"Sophia, blessed is our meeting, my son Mordred – and the boy Emrys." Nimueh says, Sophia already kneels beside the boys; Mordred takes a step away from her, a warning in his eyes as he looks to Emrys. Sophia looks nothing like Nimueh or Mordred, she is fair with yellow hair, but the blue eyes with dancing gold flames are the same as theirs – the same as Emrys.

"How strange, this boy has no mortal father." Sophia's knuckles faintly bush Emrys cheek, and they are cold. He looks aside from her, feeling shame, and notices the Sidhe staff that lies on the ground beside her – she has not let it go.

"It is my way back to _Tír-Mòr_, little one, perhaps one day we will go there together." Sophia muses aloud, but Emrys closes his eyes and his heart seems to open to wander-lust, for all that he has been all over Albion with Blaise, there is the promise for more then he can imagine in Sophia's words. When he opens his eyes, she favors him with a smile, it's bright and shining, like the sun.

"_He will go no where with you alone_." Mordred hisses wordlessly at her, an echo of it rippling through Emrys mind, his lips curling up in a snarl.

"Oh little shadow, how great your fall will be, to his greatest sorrow, Emrys. He will kill you when he strikes upon the one who holds half your soul." Sophia's eyes were narrowed upon Mordred, who flinched from her as if struck.

"_No, I would never! You lie! Do not listen, Emrys…? Please, believe me…I would not do such a thing_!" Tears blurred Mordred's eyes, as he looked up upon Emrys, pleadingly.

"Do you promise?" Emrys asks, though he had heard the echo of prophesy in Sophia's words as well as Mordred.

"_Yes, yes! I swear it upon my name, my blessings of power! You are _my friend_! You mean everything to me!_" Morderd would say anything, Emrys realized with a sharp pain in his heart, so long as he would not turn away from the smaller boy. Emrys knelt and hugged him, so that he faced Sophia as he did it.

He did not know his eyes flared gold.

"Leave." He said, and Sophia bowed her head with a smile.

"As you will, Ambrosius…" She fades in golden light and Nimueh breaths in a deep beside him, as if startled.

"You did well, Emrys – very well, to defend my son." She shakes her head, and Emrys can see her shivering. He doesn't know what he's done, but he does know that Nimueh had dared not interfere. They, the Sidhe, who call Avalon their Tír-Mòr, were a powerful people, and greater then Nimueh, priestess of the Old Religion of the Druid.

"Why did she call me Ambrosius…?" Emrys asks his pale blue eyes unflinching.

"It is your name, in their tongue. It means immortal, or divine." Emrys closes his eyes and breaths as Mordred holds fast to him, an anchor in the storm. It is imposable not to notice, having come face to face with Sophia that all of them have the same eerie blue eyes – but their hair is dark, as if the Sidhe looked into a dark mirror before coming upon the Isle of the Blessed.

He wonders why that is, and if everyone in the Old Religion can claim blood tie to the Sidhe. Emrys opens his eyes, and looks into the mist, and hears Sophia's words again ringing in his mind where they can never be lost.

"…_this boy has no mortal father_…"

Who is his father?

Only his mother, Hunith, would know.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Notes: We know that Cerdan is the father of Mordred, but we never learned who his mother was – so I'm saying Nimueh.

_Tír-Mòr _means mainland, great/large country in Irish, it suits as something the Sidhe would call Avalon, as they use it in _Merlin_.

Please be aware that I'm writing this while my only working knowledge of _Merlin_ is the first season, and the Arthurian myths.


End file.
